Who remembers these???
If you were a Boy Scout back in the day, you probably lost as many of these as I did… Sigh…
They are collapsible cups, and we always had one or two in our backpacks. Hint- DO NOT try to drink coffee from one unless you have gloves on!!!
Only made that mistake ONCE!
Yes, a few of us old farts actually DO know how to fix things, and grow things, and do all kinds of work with our hands that seems to have escaped the capabilities of the younger generations…
I will admit to scratching my nose on the back of a transmission before, because it was cleaner than my hands… Sigh…
Re the other, I’ve thrown away a few pairs of tightly whiteys because there was NO way to get the grease out!
The worst ones were always the repacking of bearings or rebuilding front ends on 4WD trucks…
Another judge has come down on ICE for the facilities where illegals are being held…
A federal judge in California has ruled that hundreds of illegal immigrant women and children in U.S. holding facilities should be released, another apparent setback for President Obama’s immigration policy, according to The Los Angeles Times.
The article is HERE.
I say deport their asses… And round up the other hundred thousand and send them home too. Only problem is that 100,000 are in the wind and have ‘disappeared’ into the sanctuary cities and other hidey holes and they won’t be seen again.
Since Justice and ICE never came up with a plan, I’m betting this one will go to appeals, and be drug out until after BO is gone, dumping one more problem on the next president… Sigh…
So the question is what will happen with Colt?
Right now nobody knows… But I’d find it truly ironic if the Indians helped bail them out!
I was asked what I was going to do if they went under, since I’m known as a Colt guy, and I said keep shooting them… 🙂 I don’t do safe queens…
Then one of the guys asked how many I had, and I didn’t honestly remember… So I pulled them out of the safe yesterday (it was time to check/wipe them down anyway).
So, looks like 18 Colts, dating from 1892 to 2013… At least these are the ones I have here…
And yes, before you ask, I’m a fan of revolvers… So there… 😛
I will admit to owning a couple of S&W K22s, thanks to Tam and Joe, my gunsmith. I use them for training guns. There are a few other cats and dogs in the safe, but since they didn’t say Colt, I didn’t pull them out.
Now if my knee will just get better, I can get back on the line and shoot some of them!!!
Haven’t decided on a title yet, but I AM working on the next book…
Rough chapter-
Gunnery Sergeant Aaron Miller didn’t feel quite so disconnected when he reported back in to the Marine Special Operations Battalion at Pendleton on Monday thanks to Master Sergeant Matt Carter’s data dump over the weekend. First Sergeant Brill just looked up and nodded. “Welcome back, Marine. You’re on LIMDU[1] for thirty days. Your team’s on a field exercise, so for now you can help out here. Captain Ragsdale is checking out Friday. Ten bucks for the kitty for his gift. Get yourself a cup and come on back.”
Aaron went down to the mess and got a cup of coffee and stuck his head into the captain’s office. Other than a few new pictures, it looked the same. He went back to the admin office and Brill directed him to a chair.
Aaron laughed in relief. “First Sergeant, I’m glad to see nothing changes,” he said quietly. “And thanks for letting me know everybody made it when I called from Germany. I probably wasn’t real coherent, but I was worried about the troops.”
“Aaron, I didn’t blame you for calling,” Brill replied. “You did what was right, and what I’d expect out of Marine in charge. In your mind, you hadn’t turned over command of the team.”
“Speaking of the team, who’s running it now?” Aaron asked.
Brill smiled. “One of your old runnin’ buddies. ‘Snake’ Venman.”
Aaron’s eyes grew wide. “He’s onboard now? God, I haven’t seen Snake since Iraq.”
“He’s a Gunny now too,” Brill said. “He got seconded over from three/one the day after you got hit. Since he was on orders here anyway, they just moved him to us early. Pissed his wife off, she had to finish the check in here by herself.”
“He still married to Patti?” Aaron asked.
“Yeah,” Brill said. “She and the kids stayed with Darlene for a couple of weeks while she got quarters and their stuff moved in. Them damn rugrats would have had me pulling my hair out if I’d been here.”
***
After dinner, Jesse Miller nee Cronin and Felicia Miller nee Lopez caught up as Felicia cooed over Jace and told Jesse she thought she might be pregnant too. Jesse smiled and said, “Does Matt know?”
Felicia shook her head. “No! And I’m not telling him until I’m sure. But I wanted to talk to you about moving in.” Felicia rushed ahead, “Jesse, I want to sell my little house. It’s too far out and living here is damn near as close to work time wise as it is. And the market is tanking. Matt’s going to ask Aaron if he would mind. It’s not like I have a bunch of stuff, but what I do have is better than some of the furniture here. I’d be willing to move it over here if that’s okay with you.”
Jesse smiled. “I’d love it. For all practical purposes, we’ve been roommates for the, well until Aaron got hurt. And if it saves money, so much the better. And we can finally get rid of that damn couch! Yours is much better!”
Felicia hugged Jesse and said, “Thank you. I can even help with Jace and give you and Aaron some private time too. But don’t say anything until Aaron asks okay?”
Jesse nodded. “Yeah, let them think they’re in charge.” Jesse and Felicia both laughed at that.
***
A week later the teams came back from the desert and Aaron had his reunion with the teams. Sergeant McKenzie was the first one to see him and said, “Welcome home, Gunny!” The others crowded around backslapping him until Snake walked in. They fell silent and parted as Snake and Aaron faced each other.
Snake put his hands on his hips, shaking his head slowly. “Damn, look what the cat drug in. A wanna be Marine.”
“I’m glad to see you haven’t changed Snake,” Aaron replied. “You still trying to make expert?”
They met in the middle of the room and pounded each other on the back, much to the relief of the teams. Finally, Aaron turned and said, “Snake, well, Gunny Snake and I go back to Quantico together. We were in the same Scout Sniper class. Ended up in the same platoon. We both made Fallujah. Sumbitch has been following me for years!”
The teams started laughing as Snake and Aaron went into the office. Snake pointed at the desk. “Still your team, Aaron. I’m just the fill in. Well, actually I’m filling in for both you and Mayhew. Don’t know if you heard, but he’s got severe infections in both legs. They still don’t have him cleared for duty. He’s been stuck at Balboa since January. He said he’s got his own drawer in the med lab’s fridge for all the shit he’s apparently dealing with.”
Aaron moved behind the desk and winced at that. “Damn, Mayhew’s injuries didn’t look like they were going to be that bad. I thought he’d already have been back!”
McKenzie stuck his head in. “Anybody want coffee?” Both of them nodded and Aaron looked slowly around the office.
He looked at Snake and finally said, “Dunno if you heard, but I’m LIMDU for at least the next thirty days. Brill’s got me working at HQ. Rather than confuse the troops, I think it might be better if I just stayed out of the way. How did you end up coming in behind me anyway? I didn’t know… hell, I still don’t know what went on after I left.”
Snake shrugged. “I was coming out of the schoolhouse at Quantico, orders to three/one and Patti was already on the way out here after the move. She’d taken the kids home for a couple of weeks of seeing the grandparents, and I was just starting the in processing. Shit, I didn’t even get to housing! They put my ass on an airplane that morning, and I was at Herat a day later and at FOB Apache the next day. I didn’t even have a weapon, had to use yours. Least you coulda done was clean the damn thing!”
Aaron laughed at that sally, and waved McKenzie in with the coffee. McKenzie asked, “So gunny, when are you coming back?”
“Still being decided, Mac,” Aaron said. “Don’t you like working for Snake?”
McKenzie realized he’d put himself in a bad place and mumbled something as he got quickly out of the office.
“Aaron, you gonna make it back?” Snake asked. “I know you’ve been through the mill these last few months and I gotta tell you, you’ve aged. You in a good place in your head?”
Aaron bowed his head for a minute, then looked squarely at Snake, “When things went to shit over there, I knew I was dead. I just wanted to take as many of them with me as I could. I didn’t want these guys to get killed because I’d fucked it up.” He waved toward the team bay and continued, “That I’m even here is a miracle. That I have a wife that has stuck by me through all this is miracle number two. Miracle number three is Jace, my son. I’ll admit I got really depressed in Walter Reed, especially when they couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Once they finally got the stump fixed, and I got moved to Brooke, things started looking up. When I held Jace for the first time, I vowed then to never give up. He’s what I’m living for.”
A single tear rolled down Aaron’s cheek. “I got another chance, Snake. I’m here to tell ya, I’m not going to screw it up. The nightmares are still there. Just another set added after Fallujah. I talked to my father-in-law, John Cronin, about it. He’s a Special Forces Nam vet and he said they never go away. The thing to do is to learn to manage them. He said he does that by beating them down with good thoughts and memories.”
Snake leaned back. “I’m glad to hear that. Patti and I both were worried about you. Nobody here was getting any information or if they were, it wasn’t getting communicated down to us. Now that you’re back, we gotta have you and your wife over for dinner.”
“Great! Just no damn rattlesnake chili, okay?”
“You’re never going to let me live that down are ya?” Snake asked plaintively.
Aaron laughed. “Nope, never!” Aaron got up. “I need to get back, and I know you’ve got to get the duty roster done. Take care of the guys, will ya?”
Snake and Aaron hugged as Snake said, “You know it. I’ll talk to Patti, maybe this weekend?”
“That’ll work. I’ll give Jesse a head’s up.”
***
Aaron checked into rehab at the Pendleton hospital and Doc Fischer and Chief Holt welcomed him back with their special brand of humor. Aaron sat gasping as he finished a round of machines. “Damn, chief, what are you trying to do? Finish the job?”
Chief Holt grinned. “Nah, I wouldn’t do that, gunny, they’d deduct my pay for that. I just need to get a good starting level for you. Doc says I’ve got thirty days, so I’m planning on getting you all the way back. You’re at maybe eighty-five percent now. You and I both know you can do better.”
Aaron grumbled, “Only if I survive. Only if I survive. How many days a week?”
The chief looked at his calendar. “I figure three days a week. I’ll give you weekends off since I know you’ve got a new baby. Can’t have you snoring and waking the baby up.”
Aaron started. “How did you?”
“Your lovely wife brought him by. She hasn’t forgotten us, unlike some people I might mention.” Holt said.
Aaron put his head in his hands. “Oh damn. I should have guessed. She told me she fed y’all, too.”
“Oh yeah. That she did. You’ve married one helluva lady, Gunny, and I’m doing this as much for her as for you. Like I said, a class act.” Holt replied.
“Don’t I know it,” Aaron said. “She stuck by me through all the BS. More than most would have done. I know I didn’t treat her real well some of the time, and I’m trying to make up for that.”
“There is another reason, too, gunny. They’re starting to do a lot more med boards. Seems like they’re putting a lot of people out, which is really stupid. With the facilities today and the technology in prosthetics, there is no reason to kick people out. Hell, the Army’s got double amputees still on active duty!”
“Okay, I can take the hint,” Aaron replied. “You know I’ll do the work, Chief. If we’re done here, I need to get back and cover the desk for Brill this afternoon. He’s going down to San Diego for the graduation this afternoon. His nephew is graduating today, and Brill’s been hosting his sister and her hubby up here.”
Holt slapped Aaron on the shoulder. “Good. Take it to the showers, gunny, and I’ll see you Monday.”
***
Twenty-one days later, Doc Fischer stood in the rehab area and watched Aaron perform the required exercises and said, “Okay, gunny you’re cleared to return to full duty. I guess I won’t have to fire the chief. But, I do want you back here monthly for checks on the prosthetic. I think we’re probably going to have to do new socks and possibly a new cup for you before long.”
Aaron smiled from ear to ear at those words, and said, “Thank you both. What now?”
Doc Fischer handed Aaron an up chit. “Give this to the command. They can enter it in your records and put your lazy ass back to work.” With that, the doc was gone, leaving Aaron goggling at him and the chief laughing.
[1] LIMited DUty
This one came over the transom via the Mil-email chain…
And yes, the Navy and Air Force did ‘occasionally’ cooperate…
Magic Stone 466–SAM Hunter-Killer Mission – Gary Barnhill
During a F-105 Thunderchief (aka “Thud”) combat tour out of Takhli, Thailand in 1965, Russian SA-2 Surface to Air Missiles (SAMs) had begun to appear in North Vietnam. Previously, we had flown over our targets unmolested at 18,000 feet to begin a dive bomb attack. The newly arrived SAMs canceled out our high altitude sanctuary and forced pilots down low where anti-aircraft artillery (AAA) fire was intense and often withering.
One day our base commander, a colonel who did not fly combat missions, bravely announced: “We are going after the SAMs”. Captain Mike “Porky” Cooper, showing more guts than tact, called out from the back of the room, “What’s this ‘We Shit’ Colonel, are you going along in the F?” (F105F is a two-seater version). Getting shot at every day tends to erode one’s military decorum.
(Navy Editor’s note: The 2nd Air Division at Tan Son Nhut AB, arranged with the Navy to have a Navy A-4E fly with the F105s on this very special mission)
Navy LCDR Trent Powers landed his A4E Skyhawk at Takhli carrying his own 500-pound snakeye bombs. Powers was the XO of the USS Oriskany’s VA-164 squadron. The Navy had sent the very best. Powers knew this was a big time White House directed mission, and dangerous. His call sign was “Magic Stone 466.
We Thud pilots had no homing or electronic warning gear. Powers, on the other hand, possessed the APR-23, which would home in on the hard to locate SA-2 location.
Takhli scheduled two outstanding Flight Commanders for the Hunter-Killer mission. Mike Cooper would lead a flight of four “Thuds” from the 334th Tactical Fighter Squadron with mates: Jim Butler, John Stell and Lee Adams. Gayle Williams would lead four from the 562nd including myself and two others whose names sadly escape me.
Each Thunderchief would carry eight 750 lb. bombs. This was the era before “smart” bombs. Our hits, if any, required substantial pilot skill.
Powers wanted to fly across the target level at 50 feet and skip bomb with his high drag snakeyes. We preferred to dive bomb, using a pop-up from the deck to create a dive bomb run. This made it tougher for the ground gunners to track us. No sweat, since Powers would be first across the target and out of the way, his flat pass would not conflict with our dive-bombing.
We called those Dooms Day missions; because invariably someone got shot down from the withering gunfire around Hanoi but there was no shortage of volunteers.
Powers plane had a magic black box or what passed for magic, circa 1965. Actually it was similar to the old semi-worthless coffee grinder ADF (Automatic Direction Finder) device we used in the late fifties in Europe. A needle would point in the general direction of a SAM site, when and if the SAM was in the radar search mode. Operator skill was required to find the target, and that meant Powers was the key player on this mission; one Navy pilot leading eight Air Force bomb laden Thuds in hopes of finding a well hidden missile site.
A couple of months earlier the first mission to destroy a SAM site turned out to be an ambush with six Thuds lost. If I recall John Morrissey’s excellent mission report; three were killed, two became POW and only one rescued.
We launched, joined up, refueled off a KC-135 (B-707) and headed up north, only to find a solid overcast at the let down point. The mission was obviously a No-Go due to weather. But instead; Powers’ gave a slight wing rock, a wordless command to join in tight nine-ship “V” formation and descended into the clouds. No one would have criticized him one bit if he canceled for weather and returned to base. Instead, he pressed on and we followed tuccked in tightly on his wings. In a nine-ship Vic in cloud, heavy with fuel and bombs, bouncing around as number five in echelon formation is in itself pretty damn exciting.
Nearing the target, we finally broke out of the clouds and went to the deck to counter intense ground fire. No longer a tactical formation, we were now just a gaggle of bomb-laden Thuds strung out in loose single file trusting our lives to our Navy leader; a man I’d only met a couple of hours ago.
At one point, there were hills on both sideswith overcast above making ng a sort of tunnel. I got slung into cloud during a sharp turn and immediately punched the nose back down desperately hoping for valley beneath instead of hillside. I remember thinking: “I’m not going to miss this mission for anything”. Stupid decision? Probably. “Better dead than to be a fuckup” is the fighter pilot credo.
As we screamed low level towards the target I flew so low over a guy driving a farm tractor that he leapt to the ground. He was doing about two knots; we were doing 550 (635 mph). When they are shooting at you: LOW is good FAST is good.
Approaching the Hanoi area my jet was hit by small arms fire causing various yellow caution lights to illuminate. On we pressed; we were the goats, tethered to lure the lion out into the open for the kill.
Until that day, it was a big deal when just one or two SAM’s were launched at us. Today they were firing them like artillery. A secret B-66 orbiting over Laos transmitted repeatedly in rapid order the code word warnings for missile “locked on” and missile “launched”. Whew!
As we closed toward the general target area, Powers calmly transmitted; “I’ve got’em on my nose, starting my run”. He flew directly over the target at tree top level and his Skyhawk was literally disintegrated by the withering ground fire. Powers ejected and got a good chute, although none of us saw it at the time. We thought he was dead, but we learned decades later he became a POW and died in captivity.
My turn. Powers’ emergency locater beacon was screeching in my headset as I lit the afterburner and popped up to about 7500 feet. I clearly remember saying aloud to myself, “Oh shit, I don’t want to do this”. During that brief dive bomb run, which seemed an eternity, I plaintively shouted into my oxygen mask: “Stop it. Stop it” as my plane took more hits.
I continued. Bombs on target. Other’s put their bombs on target as well. The first SAM destroyed in the Vietnam War.
The AAA hits caused multiple red and yellow emergency lights to blink in my cockpit indicating a fire and other aggravations. I radioed my intention to try to make it to the water off Haiphong before ejecting. Radio chatter was understandably chaotic. Each Thud pilot was individually living his own hell, each jinking violently to get away from the unrelenting and withering ground fire.
Now alone and doing 810 knots on the deck (canopy melt limit speed) I slowly overtook a Navy F-8 Crusader as if passing a car on the freeway. We exchanged gentle hand waves as if to say: “Oh, hi there, don’t know you, but hope you’re having a nice day?” It was bizarre.
But now over the safety of Gulf of Tonkin, a sort of euphoric relief set in. If I ejected over the water, the Navy would surely pick me up.
My fire warning light had gone out, so when I saw a couple of North Vietnamese boats capable of capturing downed pilots; I strafed them. The 20mm Vulcan nose gun fired six thousand rounds a minute causing huge damage.
Forget the ejection, the bird was still flyable. Anyway, last month I was forced to dangerously eject just one second before my plane exploded into a huge fireball over a menacing jungle.
Got lucky and found a refueling tanker with barely anything reading on the fuel gauge. Another whew!
I made it back to Takhli with landing gear, flap and flight control problems but landed in one piece. There were 37 hits all over the plane except the extremely vulnerable underbelly engine area. That Thud required 4,000 man-hours of work before it could be ferried elsewhere for further repairs.
I passionately pitched General Simler to award the Air Force Cross to Powers but years later learned Powers was awarded the Navy Cross.
Excerpts from a DFC awarded for this mission: “Hunter-Killer mission-deep within hostile territory low level high speed run encounter withering ground fire pressed the attack dropped bombs in heart of target complex, remarkable mission, overwhelming odds …skill aggressiveness”.
It was an honor to fly and fight with those hard-charging heroes in 1965. They didn’t all come home. Vietnam was not glamorous or publicly supported but every fighter pilot put his life on the line every mission.
Every time climbing up that cockpit ladder felt like playing a Super Bowl albeit with no audience. No applause. No winner. No parade.
– End –
That last sentence says it all… And it’s still true today for those who are on the front lines, whether in the air, on the ground or on/under the water… No audience. No applause. No winner. No parade.
h/t JP
Tired of the BS, didn’t want to rant, so an oldie but a goody…
How “Aviators” came about
Aviators come from a secret society formed around a thousand years ago. They are warriors and below is the proof.
A little known fact is the origin of the word “aviator.” In the immortal words of Johnny Carson, “I did not know that.” Phu Khen (pronounced Foo Ken ), 1169 – is considered by some to be the most under-recognized military officer in history. Many have never heard of his contributions to modern military warfare. The mission of this secret society is to bring honor to the name of Phu Khen.
A Khen was a subordinate to a Khan in the military structure of the Mongol hordes. Khan is Turkish for leader. Most know of the great Genghis Khan, but little has been written of his chain of command.
Khen is also of Turkish origin, although there is not a word in English that adequately conveys the meaning.
Roughly translated, it means ” One who will do the impossible while appearing unprepared and complaining constantly.” Phu Khen was one of ten Khens that headed the divisions, or groups of hordes as they were known, of the Mongol Army serving under Genghis Khan. His abilities came to light during the Mongols’ raids on the Turkistan city of Bohicaroo.
Bohicans were fierce warriors and the city was well fortified. The entire city was protected by huge walls and the hordes were at a standoff with the Bohicans. Bohicaroo was well stocked and it would have been difficult to wait them out.
Genghis Khan assembled his Khens and ordered each of them to develop a plan for penetrating the defenses of Bohicaroo. Operation Achieve Victory, “AV”, was born. All 10 divisions of Khens submitted their plan.
After reviewing AV plans 1 through 7 and finding them unworkable or ridiculous, Genghis Khan was understandably upset.
It was with much perspiration that Phu Khen submitted his idea, which came to be known as AV 8. Upon seeing AV 8, Genghis was convinced this was the perfect plan and gave immediate approval. The plan was beautifully simple. Phu Khen would arm his hordes to the teeth, load them into catapults aimed by Pi Luts, and hurl them over the wall. The losses were expected to be high, but hey, hordes were cheap. Those that survived the flight would engage the enemy in combat. Those that did not?.. Well, surely their flailing bodies would cause some damage. And the Pi Luts would go back to camp and drink all the beer every night.
The plan worked and the Bohicans were defeated.
Only one of the Bohicans was left standing. He would become known as “The Last of The Bohicans.” From that day on, whenever the Mongol Army encountered an insurmountable enemy, Genghis Khan would give the order “Send some of the Phu Khen AV 8ers.” This is believed, though not by anyone outside our secret society, to be the true origin of the word Aviator.
Phu Khen’s AV8ers were understandably an unruly mob, not likely to be sociably acceptable. Many were heavy drinkers and insomniacs. However, when nothing else would do, you could always count on an AV8er.
A Phu Khen Aviator. Denied, perhaps rightfully so, his place in history, Phu Khen has been, nonetheless, immortalized in prose. You hear mystical references, often hushed whispers, of “those Phu Khen Aviators.”
Do not let these things bother you. As with any secret society, we go largely misunderstood, prohibited by our apathy from explaining ourselves.
You are expected to always live down to the reputation of the Phu Khen Aviator, a reputation cultivated for centuries, undaunted by scorn or ridicule, unhindered by progress.
So drink up, be crude, sleep late, urinate in public and get the job done. When others are offended, you can revel in the knowledge that YOU are a PHU KHEN AVIATOR.
Salut!!!
Back in the day… Men carried real watches…
The one on the left is my grandfather’s Elgin pocket watch from the 1890s when he was a railroad engineer for Union Pacific. He carried that watch for over 60 years.
The one on the right is a Hamilton pocket watch that was presented to my dad in 1958 for 30 years of service with Interstate and Esso pipeline. They both still keep excellent time, but sadly we no longer have watch pockets to carry them in.
I used to carry them occasionally for ‘dress’ occasions when pants still had watch pockets or I had a vest on. Not so much anymore…
Today it seems like the bigger/bulkier/uglier the watch is, the more popular. I’ve seen kids wearing WRIST watches that are bigger than these pocket watches. OBTW, these you actually have to wind! No batteries, no fancy solar cells, just quality watchmaker’s art…
CCW permits for women up 270% since 2007!
And if one actually studies the FBI crime stats, there IS a proven decrease in violent crimes against people and murders when CCW is put in place…
The article by Matt Vespa, HERE, is a good one!
And some facts from the Lott/Whitley/Riley paper…
You can download the entire report HERE.
Good news, as far as I’m concerned… Now if we could just get reciprocity…
And this graphic was stolen borrowed from The Miller…
It looks like I only had three missing books from the ones I sent out last week. If you were expecting a copy of TGM- Changes and haven’t seen it yet, please shoot me an email. It seems like I inevitably have a couple go missing every time I ship…
The first reviews are trending positive, and the book is selling faster than both earlier ones did. There for a few days, I was up in the 19,000 range, sadly I’m now back in the bottom of the barrel… BUT
I think I’m in pretty damn good company… Page 2 of the customers who bought pages was Marko’s books, and Larry’s books! 🙂
Once again, thanks to the Alpha and Beta readers, and my ‘technical consultants’… Without y’all and outstanding covers, it wouldn’t have gone anywhere.
And I’m working on #4, but I’m going to do my best to get it right! I don’t want to rush and put a bad book out there. Too many of y’all would hunt me down and kick my ass!!!